


Shots

by cecilantro



Series: Disaster Drinkers [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 00:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: “Hope you fuckers are ready to get hammered.”Shots! Shots shots shots shots shots!





	Shots

**Author's Note:**

> Why do like half of the Nein have a drinking problem

Beau is knocking back a row of shots at the bar and Jester watches with a strange mixture of exasperation, reluctance, and adoration, the kind of impressed that she really doesn’t want to be, because everyone in the Nein seems to drink to solve their problems. She’s already promised herself that she’ll fix this one problem, if nothing else, she’ll wean them off the alcohol and onto the milk. She swigs that as she considers it, because milk is fucking  _ good _ . Strengthens the bones, calms the soul, more taste than water, doesn’t get you off your ass so you try to drunkenly kiss your roommate.    
Beau had walked straight, not swayed, swore blind, but it didn’t seem like she remembered it, Jester definitely does.    
_ “Y’know, Jes, you’re… really pretty.” _ Jester blinks, behind her eyelids she sees Beau’s face, lit by dim moonlight and the dying light of a candle as she stands in front of her, she hears her words again. Shakes her head for the presence of mind, Caleb beside her looks at her from the corner of his eyes,    
“Jester?” he asks, and the  _ are you okay _ doesn’t need to be spoken. She gives him a sunlight smile, can’t even tell how much of it is forced any more. Life is so much harder than she’d expected. He blinks once and she can tell he’s still dubious but he stops side-eyeing her as Molly saunters past, stares at him instead.   
“ _ He’s looking again. _ ” Jester says, Infernal, and Molly quirks a smile in her direction,   
“ _ I know _ .” and they stop, because a slip, just a little slip, and too much emotion behind anything they say could create inadvertent effects, to one another, to the others at the table. Any language could, really, with the right gestures to it, but Infernal and Celestial especially traipsed the knife-edge line between language and magic, inherent almost to itself.   
“I do wish that you wouldn’t do that.” Caleb folds one arm against his chest, the other is busy lifting his drink to his lips, “It gives a man quite a reason to distrust.”   
“Just talking about how pretty you are, darling.” Molly says breezily, looks not at Caleb, but at Jester, she feels the prickle of mischief that she loves so much and there’s a thrill in the back of her mind, too, that she knows is not her own. It’s a comforting flicker, really.   
Caleb’s cheek flush a little, as much as he tries to fight it, and even that little bit, that tiny bit, is stark against such pale skin.   
Beau takes that moment to interrupt, Nott as her side as she clatters to the table with a grin, smug and tinged pink and rough with the edge of alcohol that she would deny avidly if they asked.   
“Hope you fuckers are ready to get  _ hammered _ ,” she waves airily at Fjord, he picks up a tray from the side, “‘Cause I bought, so much.”   
Nott produces a bottle from a cloak and tugs up a chair between Jester and Beau, Fjord sets a tray of already-full shot glasses down, and Yasha comes up on Beau’s other side, looks around the table for the correct spot to sit.   
“Here.” Fjord scoots closer to Molly, opening a space between himself and Jester, and Molly looks at him in almost disbelief.   
“Really?” Molly levels, his tone is light, he shoves at Fjord’s shoulder, “Trying to steal  _ my _ Yasha for yourself?”   
“I- not me, no, uh-” he drags his chair in the other direction, up to Jester, and she cuddles against his arm affectionately.   
Yasha smiles at him awkwardly and pulls her chair up beside Molly, the kind of close that he knows means that she’s not having the best time in her head right now, and he loops an arm through hers. His tail creeps over to Caleb and taps, pokes at his leg, but Caleb is distracted with the shots.   
“What- what are we meant to be drinking?”   
“Some shit called  _ Courage _ , thought it was kinda, apt, all that shit.” Beau takes a shot from the tray, leaning over the table, and picks up a second, sets it in front of Jester.   
“I-” Jester starts, and Beau shushes her,   
“I know you don’t drink, I didn’t want you to be left out. S’just milk.”   
Jester picks up the little glass and gives a tentative sniff, a dubious lick, almost like a cat, and beams, this time it’s all genuine.   
“Beau!” she drags her name out, “That is so sweet of you!”   
Beau sits back, a little smug, and picks up her shot.   
“Thanks. Well? Take your fuckin’ shots.” the last she directs to the likes of Fjord and Molly, and they all take their shot glasses, Molly hands Yasha hers and meets her eyes to read the words she can’t say in them.   
He switches his gaze from her to Beau and watches, waits for the opportunity, she’s briefly distracted by Nott and he sweeps in, takes and shots Yasha’s drink, fills it just as quickly with a dash of water from his own flask. He understands. Yasha wants her wits, she doesn’t want to drink, she’s concerned for Beau’s state, and what a state she’s already in. Caleb is the only one to see, and Molly presses a finger to his lips, there’s the hesitant swirl of desperation in his eyes, Caleb gives a minute nod and Molly feels fingers press to his tail under the table, he’d forgotten it was set to Caleb’s leg and he swears he almost shocks himself out of his own skin. Yasha sees him jump and frowns, but doesn’t question.

Beau quietens them all and counts down, Molly throws back his second shot of the evening and feels it burn less like alcohol and more like ice down his throat, he sees Caleb shiver, too, and the fingers pressed to his tail grasp in sudden shock.

 

By the time the bottle is empty, they’re all five or so shots in. Jester keeps taking her milk, and Molly continues to knock back Yasha’s shots, and he is  _ really _ feeling that. He feels woozy, a little sick, and it’s almost as though the outline of his physical form is blurred and hazy, he looks at his own hand, the one with the tattoos, and frowns. It’s so fascinating, he pokes at the soft parts and studies the way that they blanche and flush up again, between lilac and red-violet, and he feels like a balloon. Caleb’s hand is still on his tail, and he thinks that maybe, if Caleb let go, he would dissipate and float away and Yasha has an arm around his shoulders but he can barely feel that. Where Caleb holds, though, is white-hot, like fire, not like ice, which trails trail trails down his throat with his last shot of the evening. Beau looks rumpled, more than she usually does, half of her hair is loose now, not just the one artistic strand. She flumps to the table, rests her chin on her crossed arms and looks at the bottle sullenly.   
“Shoulda bought more.”   
Nott scrambles onto her chair behind her and pulls the ribbon from Beau’s hair, lets it fall unceremoniously in a curtain, mostly over her face. There’s a wave to it where it’s been tied up, and she gives a shocked, “Hey!” and tries to sit up again, Nott shoves her.   
“Stay!” she commands, and Beau has no fight in her, plops back down and lets Nott gather her hair back and begin twisting nimbly.   
Caleb watches her with absent interest, he’s seen Nott’s fingers work like this, though usually with knots on traps, she’s tried it on him a few times. She braids Beau’s hair back and ties it at the end, tries a bow, but can’t quite get it.   
“Jester?” Nott looks over Beau’s head to her, “Can- can you help?”   
Jester scoots around the table and leans around Nott, ties a neat, quick bow with almost dextrous hair. Nott high fives her and scrambles back to her own chair, letting Beau run her fingers over her own hair, with something between a squint and a smile, not quite sure if she likes it or not. Nott is looking at her expectantly, the nervous fiddling of her glass as she waits for Beau’s judgement.   
“Beau.” Fjord says, gently, tips his head to Nott, and Beau follows his eyes.   
“Oh. Oh, shit, Nott, this is sick! Not sure if it’s my style, but pretty cool.” and does something odd, for Beau, and pulls Nott into a one-armed hug.   
“Oh!” Nott says, startled, and her hand twitches for her crossbow until she stops herself, she’s not being attacked, she’s being shown physical affection. And she headbutts, gently, Beau in return.   
“Well done, Nott.” Caleb inclines his head to her and she beams. As attention turns to her, Caleb turns his to Molly, humming happily and swaying a little as he sits upright. Caleb begins to scoot his chair as quietly as possible across the floor toward him, until they’re close enough for Caleb to push his shoulder up against Molly’s and the tiefling doesn’t think twice, just snuggles his way against Caleb’s arm and sets his head on his shoulder, closes his eyes.   
“Mollymauk, you can’t sleep here.”   
“You’re warm.” Molly hums in response, there’s a serene smile on his face and he’s cuddling Caleb’s arm and everything is just a lot right now. Caleb sighs, gently, and moves his hand from his glass to push his fingers through Molly’s hair a few times.   
“It’s a gift of my magic that I stay warm.” He says, flatter than he’d intended, “But we, we are at the table, you can’t sleep here.”   
Molly makes a sad noise in his throat and fuck, Caleb’s heart, he supposes he’s drunk enough to make what could be a piss-poor decision and turns so he can talk quietly to Molly’s ear,   
“You can- you can stay with me, if, if you want, tonight.”   
Molly’s eyes flutter open and he lifts his head, finally, smiling brightly.   
“Yeah?”   
“You have looked after Yasha, it is time someone looked after you.” he meant it to be lighthearted, but he realises once it’s out of his mouth that it really  _ is _ overdue, Molly has been looking out for and caring for all of them since the beginning.   
Molly kisses him, clumsy and excited and it doesn’t seem to register when he comes away that kissing someone like that isn’t something that’s just  _ done _ . Caleb blinks, slow and shocked, still sober enough to be surprised, still sober enough that his breath is coming in shallow and short and fast. Not how he’d intended the first one to be. Hopefully, not the last.  _ Definitely _ not the last, he won’t let that be the lasting reminder of Molly on his lips, and the hand in Molly’s hair comes in helpful, slides to the back of his head and pulls him in, a proper kiss this time, punctuated with a wolf-whistle from Beau. He thinks that Molly flips her off, because she tells him to fuck off, but he doesn’t look.   
“I think that we should probably go to bed.” he manages, when they part at last, and Jester gives what could be described only as an evil cackle.   
“Be safe, guys! I’ve seen some nasty rashes-”   
Caleb levels his eyes at her and gestures with one hand to a swaying, ruffled Molly.   
“Look at how drunk he is and tell that joke again.”   
Molly hums, looks amicably between Caleb and Jester, and she squints as she leans over and stares at him. Pauses.   
“... Yeah, okay. Take care of him, Caleb.” and she sits back in her seat, serious now, Caleb nods as he stands,   
“Come on, Molly.” He pulls, and Molly comes without hesitation, Caleb leads him up by the hand, and Nott follows behind.   
Fjord stretches widely.   
“Well, looks like I got a free bed goin’ in my room, Yasha, if y’ want a break from the floor?”   
Beau whines in disappointment, and Yasha looks at her briefly, torn.   
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”   
Beau whines again, louder this time, and makes grabby hands for Yasha, Fjord stands up.   
“I’m headed off, then. Y’ comin’?”   
“Just a moment, be right up.” Yasha inclines her head and lets him leave before she stands, too, and makes her way around the table. She pauses by Jester, and presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Jester  _ purrs _ happily, and turns to look at her when she draws away,   
“Are you okay, Yasha? You don’t seem too drunk.” There’s a beam and a knowing glint and Yasha wonders if she knows, she mouths  _ Molly _ at her, and Jester’s grin quirks, a little wider, she nods.   
“Thought so.”   
Yasha turns instead to Beau, who has been waiting for her attention, and now shifts up to rest her head on Yasha’s shoulder.   
“Don’t  _ go _ .” She whines, draws out the ‘o’ and blinks at Yasha in what she hopes is an encouraging way. Yasha forces her shoulders to relax and takes the back of Beau’s head in her hand to hold her still as she kisses her forehead.   
“I like you, Beauregard.” She says, honest and open, “I do think that you’re attractive, and I think you are genuinely, very interesting, and I want to spend time around you.”   
“Then stay with me.” Beau continues to whine, and Jester’s tail whips.   
“No.” Yasha says, and it’s firm, “I don’t… I can’t risk getting into things that may be disturbed and ruined by my… commitments. My responsibilities. My-”   
“Yasha stuff.” Beau sighs and stands away, steps back, Yasha nods,   
“My Yasha stuff.” She agrees, and turns back to Jester, “You’ll look after her?”   
“I always do!” Jester says, and there’s the smile again, the one that she can’t tell how much is fake, Yasha’s brow creases minutely.   
“If you have to fake it,” She points at Jester’s face, “It’s not worth it.”   
Jester lets it fall away, and Yasha moves up to kiss her head again.   
“Goodnight.” She says, finally, and leaves to Fjord’s room to the tune of Beau and Jester calling  _ goodnight _ back.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll write fic about how they underestimate a lot how smart Beau is"  
> (an hour and a half later)  
> "aw fuck its about their drinking problems again"


End file.
